


In Memoriam

by NikitaHawkeye



Category: Trese (Comics)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:00:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23392888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NikitaHawkeye/pseuds/NikitaHawkeye
Summary: Jonathan Trese. Gentleman thief. International felon. Enemy of the State. Son. Brother. Friend.Occasional lover.
Relationships: Jonathan Trese/Vaz Montalban
Kudos: 3





	In Memoriam

Jonathan Trese. Gentleman thief. International felon. Enemy of the State. Son. Brother. Friend.

_ Occasional lover. _

Vaz Montalban would never admit that under oath, but it’s not like she needed to. The wallpaper in their hotel room in Costa Adeje still had scratches underneath, she was sure. 

It had been hours after the last family member, a tiny woman with long black coat and grim demeanor, left the churchyard, but Vaz couldn’t bring herself to stand up and leave the place, maybe hopefully forever. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the damning slab of stone that seemed to mock her the longer she looked at it. 

Son. 

Brother.

Friend.

_ In Memoriam.  _

She found out one sunny day, when nothing should be out of ordinary, a supposedly normal shift: she woke up, ate breakfast, dressed up, drove to work, logged to biometrics, then—

“Where’s my office?”

Anna at the front desk looked up from her paperwork in surprise. “Didn’t you hear? The task force was dissolved.  _ Jaime de la Sombra _ finally bit the dust.”

The woman droned on about explosions and state penitentiaries, but did not notice how Vaz Montalban’s world suddenly stopped spinning and crumbled into tiny little pieces as she stood before a door she is not going to open anytime soon. 

Ten days later, she found herself staring at a closed casket being lowered into the ground, suitcase in her hand and heart in her throat. 

In the middle of her grief, she briefly wondered why no one in the immediate family was shedding a tear. Then, she realized numbly, maybe this is what happens when you choose to live as an outlaw. Your family would not exactly be eager to welcome you home, either alive and kicking or in multiple pieces of body bags.

_ Family. _

Vaz Montalban was standing in the presence of Jonathan Trese’s family, and she has never felt more out of place. In hindsight, it was utterly stupid to even think of going to his funeral. How would she have introduced herself, the lone weeping woman in the corner?  _ “Hello, my name is Detective Vaz Montalban, head of a task force specifically built to capture Jimmy Trese, dead or alive? We might have gone out more than once, maybe slept together on some occasion? Oh god, pay no attention to the woman behind the curtain.”  _

Why IS she here? The moment she ran out of the office building, she busied herself with compiling all the information she had gathered about her subject for the past years. She pulled all the strings, called all favors owed, broke down several doors, and went on deep cover for days, and Vaz was not even sure if she still had a job to return to after everything. 

In her search for answers, she stumbled upon a dilapidated church somewhere in Pontevedra, listed in a dossier as one of his old hideouts. An old lady welcomed her with a warm smile, as if she expected Vaz’s arrival. She left the place with a sketch of a building labeled as “The Diabolical,” mind heavy with more questions than answers. When she looked back, it was as if the whole place disappeared, save for the remains of an old church’s rotting foundation. Ten days and several dozens of unexplainable incidents later, and Vaz knew she would never be the same. 

All those troubles for a man whom she did not even know where she stood with. Ah well, there’s no real way of knowing that now right? Now that he’s —

Vaz felt another convulsive sob run through her body, her mind frantically shutting down the image of Jimmy Trese’s cold, dead body buried six feet under the same ground she was standing on. 

He was  _ dead,  _ and she should really get used to the word, but she didn't think it was possible at the moment, considering the portrait of them together by the sea still burned on the back of her mind.

Jimmy's talent for the arts not only applied to stealing them, but in creating them as well. Displaying the portrait would not only raise several bureaucratic eyebrows, but doing so would convince her of things that otherwise did not exist… like the softness in her eyes and the warmth in his smile. 

Did he really look at her like that? More importantly, did SHE really look at him like that?

_ See you around. _

Three little words. She doubted that he intended for them to be his last words to her. Three little words that were part of their cat-and-mouse ritual, a little promise that he somehow never failed to fulfill. Three little words, meant to keep her on her toes.

Three little words, ironically the first and last lie he ever told her. 

She heard the sound of thunder nearby, and Vaz finally decided it was time to leave. She lingered briefly, her palm tracing over the carved words one last time.

_ In memoriam. _

Vaz whispered a short prayer and did the sign of the cross. So many things to say, but Vaz quickly decided against the speech. 

_ The dead could never hear your prayers. _

Her hand reached out, fully intending to settle for a farewell touch, but froze midway when she heard a whisper of movement right behind her—

A familiar grin greeted her sight, and for the second time, Vaz Montalban's world stopped spinning.

"Ah, detective. I knew you couldn't stay away."

**Author's Note:**

> Needless to say, Alexandra was not very happy with this development.


End file.
